


Hold Onto Me as We Go

by buckysbears (DrZebra)



Series: Let Us Love [7]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Gen, Hanukkah, Holidays, Hurt/Comfort, Ice Skating, Jewish Character, Kwanzaa, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, adoption au, childhood AU, mama may
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-08 00:11:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8821834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrZebra/pseuds/buckysbears
Summary: May's newly fostered brood celebrates their first holiday season together. (Takes place in the Let Us Love AU, but this can be read as a standalone!)





	1. Making Plans

**Author's Note:**

> if you're new to this series, you might want to check out [this post here](http://buckysbears.tumblr.com/post/145084064049/hey-idk-if-youre-still-taking-these-but) that kind of sets up the series 
> 
> this takes place about six months after may starts fostering them. skye is 6, fitz and jemma are 8, and trip is 9 
> 
> THANK YOU to the anon who suggested a holiday fic for this au, cause this is gonna be so much fun to write! this chapter sets up the rest of the story so not much happens in it, but believe me i have plans for the rest >:) each of the kids is getting their own chapter, and then there'll be an epilogue! i hope you guys enjoy

“Fitz is Jewish,” Jemma blurts out one chilly morning, when May is still barely blinking her eyes open above her chipped coffee cup. The only reason she gets up this early is because Jemma does, and most days it’s all she can do to mentally keep up with the young girl’s stream-of-consciousness as she rambles on about this and that. But today Jemma has been quiet, introspective, and May wouldn’t say she was grateful—she does love hearing what her foster daughter has to say—but the quiet has been nice.

It takes May a moment to catch up with what’s been said, the caffeine still not having hit her system, and she dumbly mumbles, “What?”

“He’s Jewish,” Jemma repeats, nervously clenching her fists together. “I didn’t know if he’d mentioned …”

“No, he hasn’t,” May says. “Coulson told me, though. And it was in his file.”

“Ah.” Jemma nods. “Good, good.” She clears her throat, eyes drifting back down to the newspaper spread before her.

May takes a sip of her coffee, watching Jemma over the rim. “Does he want to start going to synagogue? Its early in the morning, right? I could take him before Skye’s baseball games.”

Jemma looks back up. “Erm, no, I don’t think so. He hasn’t said anything to that effect.”

“Was it just the fact of the day, then?” May can’t help but tease.

Jemma shoots her a stricken look, which immediately sets May on edge, and then slides the front page of the newspaper over to her, tapping her finger on the date: _December 2, 2001_. “It’s December 2 nd,” Jemma explains. “Hanukkah starts in a week.”

“Oh.” May glances down at the paper, then back up at Jemma’s face, and says carefully, “Is that what’s upsetting you?”

“I- I just-“ Jemma fumbles. “I didn’t know if we were doing anything.”

“Do you want to?” May asks.

It was apparently the wrong thing to say, because Jemma’s eyes widen, and she pulls her hands into her lap. “We don’t have to.”

“Jemma-“

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

May gentles her voice the best she can, something she’s still practicing. “Jemma, we can celebrate the holidays if you guys want to. I don’t mind.”

Jemma peers at her hesitantly. “It’s not a big deal if we don’t.”

“Well, maybe I want to,” May says, trying to make it easy for her.

Jemma scrunches her nose, disbelieving. “Really?” she asks, a fair note of skepticism in her voice.

“I haven’t had a family to celebrate with since I was a kid myself,” May admits. “It might be nice. Tradition, and all that.”

“Tradition,” Jemma says, voice flat. “Celebrating Hanukkah.”

“Okay, maybe not. I don’t really know much about Hanukkah.” May takes another long sip of her coffee. “Do you?”

Jemma quickly shakes her head.

“Do you know anything about it?”

Jemma shakes her head again.

“Your best friend is Jewish,” May points out.

“Well, you’ve had a lot more time to learn than I have, and you don’t know about it, either,” Jemma shoots back, then blanches. “Not _a lot_ more time.” She splutters. “You don’t look a day over thirty.”

May’s face remains blank, a byproduct of trying not to laugh.

Jemma lets out a defeated sigh, pushing her chair back. “I’m going to go wake the others.”

May tries not to smirk. “Good plan.”  

-

The kids clamber down the stairs a few minutes later, Jemma leading the bunch, Fitz following with a yawn, and Antoine heading up the back with a still half-asleep Skye in his arms.

May pours herself another cup of coffee, and starts pulling cereal boxes down off the top shelf: Honey Nut Cheerios for her and Jemma, Frosted Flakes for Fitz, and Fruit Loops for Skye and Antoine. She sets out the bowls as the kids take seats at the table.

“Noooo …” Skye whines, and May turns around to see that she’s clinging to Antoine with her eyes still closed, as he tries to deposit her in her chair. “You’re so warm.”

“You have to let go if you want to eat breakfast,” he tries to reason.

“No breakfast. Just cuddles.”

“If she’s cold, put a coat on her,” May tells him as she gets out the milk.

Skye perks up at that, eyes popping open. “I want to wear Mom’s jacket.”

The whole ‘mom’ thing is still new for May. Skye only first said it a month ago, and is the only one who uses it regularly. Jemma has said it a few times, but it seems to scare the girl each time she does until May explicitly tells her it’s okay. Antoine has said it casually, teasingly, very aware of the weight that the word holds. And Fitz … Fitz hasn’t said it at all, which May understands and tries not to mind. She’s well aware the consequences it can have for kids like them.

 “The leather one?” Antoine confirms.

Skye nods, and Antoine goes into the hallway to get it from the coat hanger at the front door. He returns, and deposits the jacket onto Skye’s shoulders. It’s horrendously big on her, even though May isn’t a large woman, the black leather dwarfing her thin frame. Skye beams anyway, snuggling into it.

 “Do I look as cool as Mom does?” Skye asks the table, striking a pose.

May hides her grin as she pours the milk in everyone’s bowl but Antoine’s.

“You-Your hands d-don’t even show,” Fitz says, huffing a laugh.

“I’ll grow into it,” Skye declares confidently.

Jemma jumps up to help May bring the bowls to the table, and Antoine gets up to pour juice for them all. Fitz stars slurping up his cereal the second it touches the table, always ravenous. Skye wiggles her arms up in the air until the sleeves fall down enough to reveal her petite hands, and she bunches them up by her elbows.

They eat in silence for a few minutes, still not yet fully woken and as energetic as they will be later, until May clears her throat, and all their heads turn to look at her at the head of the table.

“Does anyone have any holiday traditions they’d like to do this year?”

She doesn’t get an answer, just four pairs of wide eyes, so she turns to Jemma and asks, “What about you, Jemma?”

“Oh.” Jemma sets her spoon down, licking her lips thoughtfully. “Well, no ‘traditions’, per se. I don’t really remember what I used to do with my family, I was so young. But, well- one time at a foster home we went ice skating. I wasn’t very good, but it was quite thrilling.”

“Do you want to go ice skating again? There’s a rink near the mall.”

Jemma gives her a careful look, then nods.

“I don’t know how to ice skate,” Skye adds in.

“That’s okay,” May says. “I can teach you.”

“Then let’s do it!” Skye bangs her hands on the table in excitement.

“Skye,” Jemma chides gently.

“Fitz?” May asks. “What about you?”

Fitz bites his lip, shaking his head. Jemma nudges him, shooting him a meaningful look.

“W-Well-“ He pushes a short sigh through his nose. “Me a-and my mum, we- ah- would go to syn-synagogue. And- uh- play dreidel. And listen- listen to- to-“ He snaps his fingers, then turns to Jemma.

“Hanukkah music,” Jemma supplies.

“Yeah. Music,” Fitz repeats.

“We can do all that,” May tells him. “I don’t know about the synagogues around here, but I can ask Coulson what he knows about them.”

Fitz stares glumly down at his bowl. “No that’s- that’s alright.”

“I’d like to learn more about Hanukkah,” Antoine says. “I’ve never been to a synagogue before.”

“We can all go together,” May decides.

“I want to play dreidel!” Skye exclaims.

Jemma reaches over to tap May on the arm, a light blush dusting her features. “Can we go to the synagogue Bobbi goes to?”

“I don’t see why not.”

Jemma gives a pleased hum.

May notices that Fitz hasn’t said anything, just continued to stare at his cereal, so she makes a note to talk to him about it later.

“Antoine? What traditions do you have?”

“Me and my grandma used to celebrate Kwanzaa together,” Antoine beams. “We’d learn about the seven principals, and my grandmother had this blue dashiki she would wear. It was really fun.”

“When is Kwanzaa?” May asks.

“The week between Christmas and New Year’s”

May nods. “Okay. You can teach us all about it then.”

“Okay!” Antoine says.

May turns to the last member of their little family. “Alright Skye, what about you?”

Skye’s lips twist. “I’ve never stayed anywhere long enough to have a tradition.”

“Well, is there anything you’d like to try?”

Skye glances around the table for support, then turns back to May. “Can we decorate a tree?”

“A tree?” May nods. “I haven’t done that in a while.”

“And-And-“ Skye continues, gaining enthusiasm, “maybe we can decorate the ornaments ourselves?”

“I think that’s a great idea.”

Skye claps, the sleeves of May’s jacket falling back down over her hands. “Can we do it now?”

“We’ll have to get supplies first,” Jemma chirps. “Blank ornaments and paints and glitter.”

Skye gasps. “I want mine to have glitter!”

“Maybe later this week,” May says.

Skye pouts, then thinks about it, and nods. “Okay. I can wait. But you promise we’ll do it?”

“I promise, Skye.” May surveys them. “Alright, we know what we’re doing for the holidays, then.”

“This is gonna be the best month ever!” Skye declares.

“Now I-“ May stops, trying to figure out how to phrase what she’s going to say. They need to talk about it, but she doesn’t want to make them feel guilty. “I know the media tends to make the holidays all about getting presents, but I don’t really have much to spend. We’re stretched a little thin as it is, and I just don’t want you to be disappointed when I can’t give as much as I’d like to. You guys deserve all the presents in the world, and I wish I could give them, but-”

“We don’t need presents,” Jemma cuts her off. “The holidays aren’t about that, they’re about-“

“Family,” Fitz supplies.

“Right.” Jemma nods. “It’s about family.”

Something settles in May’s chest, and she can’t help the smile that pulls at the corners of her mouth. “That, I can manage.”

-

May leans back in her chair, heaving out a sigh. “I’m not used to doing stuff for the holidays.”

“The station always a holiday party,” Phil says.

May rolls her eyes. “I’m perfectly capable of showing up and stopping Sharon and Kara from getting wasted. But this- this is different. I have four kids whose whole ‘holiday cheer’ thing is riding on me. This is the first real holiday season they’re getting, I don’t want to mess that up.”

Phil stifles a laugh. “I can’t imagine you with holiday cheer.” He leans forward on his desk. “Please tell me you’re planning on dressing up as Santa.”

“Be serious, Phil.”

He holds up his hands.

“It just seems like so much. How do you handle it?”

Phil levels her with a grim look. “It takes a lot of work. A lot of dedication, perseverance, and patience. It takes planning and-“

He stops himself at May’s raised eyebrow.

“Phil,” she says.

Phil’s mouth quirks into a grin. He leans down, opens the bottom drawer of his desk, and pulls out a bottle, sitting it on the desk with a dull _thud_.

“Cinnamon whiskey?”

He nods once. “Cinnamon whiskey.”

May purses her lips. “That, I can manage.”


	2. Fitz

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHO'S PUMPED FOR HANUKKAH. WHO'S GONNA EAT THEIR WEIGHT IN LATKES. THIS KID

May kicks the boys’ bedroom door with her foot in lieu of knocking, the laundry hamper heavy in her arms. She receives no answer, so she assumes both of the boys are elsewhere, shifts the hamper onto her hip, and opens the door. She doesn’t expect Fitz to be inside, sitting cross-legged on his bed, staring at something he’s holding in his palms.

May stops in the doorway, and slowly Fitz looks up, blinking at her.

“Oh, sorry,” he mumbles.

She walks the rest of the way into the small bedroom, sets the hamper down in front of the dresser, and plops onto the ground (kneeling or crouching in front of it is too painful, with her injured hip).

“What are you looking at?” she asks, opening the bottom drawer and beginning to pull all of the boys’ socks from the pile of laundry.

He hesitates, wary, and then holds it up for her to see. It’s a kippah, blue, with silver robots on it.

“Cute,” she says, inspecting it from her place on the floor. “Are you wearing it to synagogue tomorrow?”

Fitz shrugs, turning it between his fingers. He’s had the same glum look each time she’s brought it up, but they haven’t really had a chance to discuss it since the topic was first introduced.

“How are you feeling about going?”

Again, all she gets is a shrug. She turns back to the laundry, intent on waiting him out. Sometimes it takes him a while to gather his words. She fishes two socks out of the hamper and holds them up for inspection. They’re the same brand, but one of them is much more worn than the other, a small hole in the heel. She sets them both aside. She’ll find a closer match before she puts them away.

She waits until she finds the matches before she speaks again, a few minutes later. If Fitz had intended on saying anything in response, he’s likely given up by now.

“I think it’ll be good for you to go,” she says. “Remembering where you come from is important, I don’t want you to lose sight of that.”

“Y-Yeah,” Fitz replies, sounding choked.

She doesn’t turn around to look at him, though the quality of his voice surprises her. If there are tears in his eyes, he wouldn’t want her to see. She keeps balling up socks, working in quiet. She’s said what she needed to say, and she doesn’t want to push him too much. Fitz has trouble regulating his emotions, and she’s found in the six months she’s known him that the best thing she can give him is breathing room. If he’s getting upset, she has no problem backing off.

She finishes off the laundry for this room and stands, picking up the hamper. She balances it on her hip as she looks at Fitz, who’s still just staring at the kippah.

“Mac and cheese for dinner?” she asks.

He barely gives her a glance. “I do-don’t care.”

That gives May pause. It’s a rare day that Fitz isn’t interested in mac and cheese.

“Hey.” She waits for him to finally look up at her. “You wanna talk?”

He stares, wavering, and then looks away. “No.”

“I’m here if you change your mind.”

He pushes a short sigh out of his nose. “I-I know.”

She watches him for another few seconds, and then nods, and leaves the room. She doesn’t bother him about it again, not when he’s quiet at dinner, not when he declines watching a movie with the rest of the family to go back to his room. She has to trust that if he needs her, he’ll come. He’s not like the other kids, who sometimes need the push, need the reminder that she’s really there to take care of them, and that they really can come to her. Fitz needs to make the decision himself, and she has to trust him on that.

-

May hesitates in front of the coat rack. Maybe it’s a crutch (not a literal crutch, like her cane, which she has to use on cold days like this) but when going into an unfamiliar situation she always falls back on wearing her leather jacket. Something about the feel, the smell, grounds her, reminds her that she’s in control. But, it’s probably not appropriate to wear to services. She doesn’t even know if wearing leather is kosher.

She pulls the wool coat off the rack, slipping it over her shoulders. It’s just not the same.

“Fitz,” she calls up the stairs. The other kids are putting their shoes on, but Fitz hasn’t come down. “It’s time to go, we’re going to be late.”

After a minute, she can hear him clambering down the stairs, and then he comes into view, stopping at the other end of the hall, his head hung. He’s wearing the same shirt, tie, and expression that he did to Fury’s funeral. A knot of guilt pinches her stomach. This is supposed to be for him, right? But he looks miserable.

(She makes a mental note that the kids need more formal wear.)

She won’t call him out on it in front of the other kids. And he’s dressed, so he must be willing. “Put your shoes on,” she says instead.

He obeys, sitting down on the ground to pull on his sneakers. He tries to tie the shoelaces, but his hands are fumbling. May is about to stoop down and tie them, but Jemma steps in, finishing off the bows without a word.

It’s bitterly cold outside, even without wind chill. They pile into the van, and May immediately cranks up the heat. She pulls out of the garage and onto the street, the synagogue a fifteen-minute drive away.

“You know, Hanukkah isn’t actually that important of a holiday in Jewish tradition,” Jemma pipes up from the middle row of seats. “It’s rather magnified in America because of the Christmas season. Rosh Hashana, which is the Jewish New Year, and Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, are actually far more important. They just don’t get the same attention as Hanukkah, because they aren’t conflated with any of the Christian holidays.”

May quirks an eyebrow at her in the rear-view mirror. “You been doing some reading?”

Jemma nods. “Bobbi taught me a little, and I got curious. There was a great introductory book to the Jewish religion and history at the library.”

“What’s Hanukkah about, then?” Antoine asks from the back row. “All I know is that it lasts eight days.”

“It celebrates the rededication of the Holy Temple in Jerusalem to the Jewish faith because of the Maccabean Revolt against the Seleucid Empire,” Jemma explains primly.

Skye blinks at her from her car seat, picking at her bottom lip with her fingernails. “Um. What does that mean?”

“Explain it simply, Jemma,” May tells her.

Jemma opens her mouth to elaborate, then pauses and turns to Fitz. He stares out the window, not seeming like he’s even paying attention, so after shooting him a concerned look, she turns to Skye again.

“There were these ancient people, the Greeks, and they took over some Jewish land a long time ago. A new ruler came to power, and he decided they couldn’t be Jewish anymore, that they had to follow the Greek religion. They wanted to take the Jewish temple and turn it into a temple for their own god. Except, that started a revolt. A Jewish priest, Matityahu, and his five sons, started an uprising and fought back against the Greeks, and even though they were outnumbered and outmatched, they won the fight. They took the temple back. That’s what Hanukkah celebrates.”

Antoine grins. “And then they partied for eight days?”

Jemma snorts. “Not quite. They needed to cleanse the temple, and there was a menorah that needed to burn all night-“

“A menorah?” Skye interrupts her.

“A lampstand,” Jemma explains. “The thing that holds the candles you light during Hanukkah.”

“Oh, I’ve seen those! They’re pretty.”

“Well, there was one in the temple, but they were only allowed to light it with oil that was undefiled and had the seal of the high priest. But, there was only enough oil to last for one night, and it would take them eight nights to make more kosher oil to put in the menorah. Except, they say a miracle happened, and the oil lasted for all eight nights, instead of just the one. That’s why Hanukkah is as long as it is. And that’s why it’s a festival of lights—people light their own menorahs each night, and put lights up around their houses.”

“I thought the lights came from Christmas,” Skye says.

Jemma scrunches her nose. “Well, Hanukkah actually did it first.”

“Huh,” Skye states.

“That’s a pretty cool story,” Antoine chimes in.

“It is, isn’t it? A classic underdog tale, much like the Jewish people themselves.”

“We’re here,” May says, pulling into a parking space.

The synagogue is small, but not as small as some of the churches May has been to. There’s the main temple, a room with tables for people to eat and host small gatherings, and a classroom for teaching Hebrew. There are posters up inside made by some of the children that go there, Hebrew written in blocky, colorful letters, with pictures of what May can only assume are traditional holiday celebrations. There’s one with triangle-shaped cookies and children in costumes, one with a menorah, one with what looks like lemons and long leaves, and one with a three-walled wooden structure with fruit hanging from the ceiling. There are people in the main room, chatting before services begin.

Fitz takes a black kippah from a bin at the front entrance to the temple, passes it to Antoine, and then takes one for himself.

“Where’s your kippah?” May asks, just now noticing that he isn’t wearing it.

“Home,” Fitz replies simply.

She’s about to ask why he left it when Bobbi bounds up to them clad in a blue, lacy dress, her large family (two brothers, two sisters, plus her parents) trailing behind.

“You guys made it!” she cheers.

“We wouldn’t miss it,” Jemma says, and May wonders if the others notice her cheeks pinkening.

Mr. Morse holds out a hand, and May reaches over her brood of children to shake it.

“It’s great what you’re doing here, Melinda,” he says. “Learning about other cultures is necessary for a child’s social development, and can foster empathy with minority groups-”

Mrs. Morse clears her throat. “What he means to say is that he’s glad you all could join us.”

“We’re glad to be here,” May says. 

Bobbi turns back to her parents. “Can I sit with them today?”

“I’m not paying you for babysitting during services,” May teases.

Bobbi snaps her fingers. “Dang, I thought I could make a little extra cash for the holidays.”

“Can she sit with us?” Jemma practically pleads.

“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Morse says.

Jemma beams.

“Oh- hey, you’ve, uh- here-” Bobbi reaches down to fix the kippah on Antoine’s head, taking a clip from the bin and fixing it to his curly hair. She’s five years older than Antoine, and about a foot taller than him, so it’s easy for her to see what she’s doing. “It’s supposed to go in the back more than the front.”

“Oh.” Antoine reaches up to pat the kippah against his hair. “Thanks.”

Bobbi turns to Fitz, who’s been quietly watching from just behind May. “Are you excited for services? I bet it’s been a while since you’ve been, huh?”

Fitz gives a short nod. “Y-Yeah.”

“Do you think you remember the prayers?”

Fitz shrugs, then looks down at his feet.

Bobbi smiles, unfazed by his brusque demeanor, and then nudges Jemma. “Hey, did you read any more about Hanukkah?”

Jemma nods. “It’s fascinating stuff. I wonder how much of it is historically accurate. Besides the miracle, that is.” She scrunches her nose. “I didn’t care much for that part.”

Bobbi huffs a laugh. “Well, that’s religion for ya.”  

An old, greying man leans through the door of the temple. “Services are starting now, if you’d all come and take your seats.

May herds them all inside, and they pick a row of seats near the middle. May sits at the end of the row, Fitz next to her, then Bobbi, Jemma, Skye, and Antoine. She takes a prayer book—siddur, it says on the cover—from the back of the seat in front of her and opens it to the first page.

Fitz, with a small huff, reaches over and flips the pages so she’s started at the other end. “You-You had it the- um- back- the wrong way,” he says.

“Oh. Thanks.”

The greying man clears his throat, adjusting the volume of the microphone at the front of the temple. “Welcome back, everyone. Thank you for joining us today. I see some new faces in the crowd, so I hope you enjoy your visit to our little shul. Now if you could please open your siddurs to page 5, Rabbi Fisher will get us started with the morning blessings.” 

A woman, equally grey, with short cropped hair and wearing a white prayer shawl, approaches the podium.

Skye leans forward in her seat. “The rabbi is a woman? That’s _so cool_ ,” she says, getting chuckles from the people sitting in the rows in front of and behind them. May shushes her gently.

The rabbi smiles out into the audience, and then begins to sing. May doesn’t understand any of the words, but her voice is beautiful, and the rest of the congregation begins singing along. And then, to May’s surprise, so does Fitz.

It takes him a little bit to find the tune (they must vary from place to place) but once he does it’s obvious that he hasn’t forgotten a single word. They get through the first prayer, and then the second, and he doesn’t stutter once.

Jemma leans forward and catches her eye, and they both smile.

While the rest of them sing the prayers, May reads along with the English on the other side of the page. She’s never been religious, but she can see the appeal. It’s nice, having a community like this, and knowing exactly where your ethics should lie. It’s a safe feeling.

They’ve just gotten to Psalm 30 (the psalm of the day for Hanukkah, the Rabbi tells them) when Fitz’s voice cracks. May and Bobbi immediately turn to look at him, but he remains hunched over, staring steadfast down at his siddur, so they can’t see his eyes.

May no longer follows along with the English, just watches Fitz. During the next prayer, his words crack again, and his voice sounds strained. May reaches over and places a hand on his leg just as a tear drips down his nose and onto the page of his siddur.

“Fitz,” she whispers.

Fitz snaps the book shut loudly, tosses it into his chair, and dashes past May and out of the room. It’s drawn the attention of some of the other members of the congregation, including the rest of the kids.

“He was doing so well,” Jemma mourns quietly. “What happened?”

May slips her siddur and Fitz’s back into the pockets of the chairs. “I’ll go find out. Stay here with Bobbi.”

She makes her way out to the front room as quietly as possible, trying not to catch anyone’s eye. She isn’t sure which way Fitz went, so she stalls just outside the door. The sound of a muffled sob floats to her ears.

She turns and heads in the direction the sound came from, making her way past the bathrooms and through the hallways that must lead to the kitchen. She turns a corner, and there at the end of the hallway, shoved into the corner in a little ball, is Fitz. May holds in a sigh, and walks towards him, her cane making more noise than her shoes as it taps the ground rhythmically. Fitz quiets his cries from behind his hands, his forehead pressed against his knees.

May leans on her cane as she lowers herself to the ground next to him. “Fitz,” she starts.

She’s cut off as Fitz uncurls and launches himself into her lap, clinging to her fiercely and burying his face against her neck. For a moment she doesn’t move, shocked still, not used to the contact from him, and then she wraps her arms around his back and pulls him closer. She lightly scratches her nails through his hair, the thumb of her other hand rubbing over his spine. Fitz chokes out a few sobs against her skin.

For a few minutes she just lets him cry. There’s no use trying to get him to talk now. As much as he struggles with speaking more than a few words at a time when he’s calm, he struggles all the more when he’s worked up. Which just frustrates him, and makes him more upset than he was in the first place. So she’ll give him time to calm down, and just hold him until he does.

Eventually, the cries peter out. He sniffles loudly, breath hiccupping.

May lowers her hand so it’s pressed between his shoulder blades. “What’s got you so upset, Fitz?”

“I-It was s’possed to be m-m-me and my mum,” he says, voice wavering badly. “Today should-should’ve been the tw-two of us b-b-but it’s not, cause she’s _dead_ , and it-it’s not _fair_.” He lets out another little sob. “ _Fuck_ , it’s not fair.”

May rests her cheek on the top of his head, the kippah silky smooth against her skin. She won’t call him  on the language, no matter what Phil says. “You’re right, Fitz, it’s not fair. If things were fair, you’d still have her.”

“And it-it wasn’t that- uh- that long ago, r-really, but … I’m start-starting to for-forget her. I c-can’t picture her anymore. All I can s-see is you.”

“Fitz …” May murmurs.

“I don’t want to forget her. I-I-I _can’t_.” Fitz lets out a sharp whine, pushing closer.

“She’s always going to be your mother, Fitz. No matter how much time passes, you’re never going to lose that.”

“The-The others call you ‘mum’ now.” Fitz’s fists clench in the fabric of May’s blouse. “And I j-just picture _you_ and it feels like …” He trails off, and May waits for him to finish, but he doesn’t.

“I’m not trying to replace your mother. That’s not why I’m here. I’m here to be whatever you need me to be, whenever you need it. I’m here to take care of you in whatever capacity you’ll let me.”

Fitz sighs against her neck. “I’ve never- I’ve never- ah- called you … that … before.”

“You don’t have to. You can call me whatever you want.”

He sniffles. “Okay. Thanks.”

“You’ve been missing her a lot, huh?”

Fitz nods.

“I’m sorry. I really am. I wish you didn’t have to go through this.”

She shifts against the wall, cradling him against her. He’s maybe a little too big to do this, and her hip is aching something fierce, but she’ll hold him as long as he needs her to. It’s rare that he initiates contact like this. Neither of them are really touchy-feely people, but if he needs her she’ll be there, without hesitation.

“I don’t w-want to go back in,” he sighs out eventually.

“Are you sure?”

He nods, curly hair brushing her neck.

“Okay, we’ll wait here until the service is done.”

“Thanks.”

She picks up her hand to resume combing her fingers through his hair. He moves to a more comfortable position in her lap, cheek resting against her collarbone. She remembers what he said, that she’s starting to replace his mother in his head, and she wonders if maybe, in part, moving on would be a good thing for him. Never forget, but don’t cling to the pain so closely. That’s the only way there is to live.

-

“N-no, you have to light the middle one first, the shamash, then- um- you- uh-“

“You use that one to light the other candles,” Jemma finishes for him.

“R-right, yeah.”

Dutifully, May cups her hand around the middle candle on the menorah they’d bought at the synagogue store and holds the lighter to it until it catches flame. It’s a simple menorah, tall and gold, but they had picked it out as a family.

“Antoine sh-should get to light the candle, he’s the- the oldest,” Fitz says, wearing his new kippah (light blue with different kinds of planes).

“But you’ll do the blessing?” Antoine confirms.

Fitz nods, so Antoine carefully picks up the shamash and moves it toward the first and only candle in the menorah (it’s the first night, so only one candle is lit, Jemma had explained earlier). Skye leans in a bit too close to the flame for May’s liking, so she pulls her back.

“Baruch atah Adonai …” Fitz begins to sing, his voice ringing clear in the dimly lit room.

Antoine lights the candle, and then puts the shamash in the candle holder above the rest, and Fitz sings all three of the blessings without interruption.

When he’s finished, Jemma leans over and gives him a short peck on the cheek. “That was beautiful, Fitz.”

Fitz blushes.

“I want to play dreidel now!” Skye declares, and bounces off toward the living room to gather the supplies they had bought. Jemma and Antoine follow, and it’s just Fitz and May left in the dining room, looking at the menorah.

Fitz shuffles over and leans into May’s side. “Thanks, mum.”

Something unclenches in May’s chest that she didn’t know had been clenched in the first place. She leans down and presses a kiss to Fitz’s hair. “Anytime, Fitz.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> should i do jemma or skye's chapter next ?? thoughts ?? anyway hope yall enjoyed!


	3. Skye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact i've never actually decorated a tree or ornaments before

“It has glitter. You’re not buying that.”

May tries not to roll her eyes, leaned against the shopping cart, reading the back of a package of markers to see if they’ll work on plastic. “Let her buy the glitter pens, Mama.”

Skye blinks up at Lian May, eyes wide and shiny.

“She’s not bringing those in my house.”

“But you promised,” Skye whines. “And I love glitter. I want my ornament to be all sparkly.”

Lian stares down at Skye with a cold slant to her mouth. “It’ll get in the carpet. I won’t be able to get it out for weeks.”

“We’ll put down newspaper before we decorate, and I will personally vacuum for you after we’re done.” May takes the package of glitter pens out of Skye’s hands and dumps it in the cart. “That good enough?”

Lian lets out a humph. “If all the glitter isn’t out, I’m calling you back to vacuum again.”

“Sure, Mama.”

Skye beams, throwing her hands into the air in victory.

Antoine, Jemma, and Fitz come around the corner and down their aisle with their arms full of boxes.

“We got the ornaments!” Jemma relays cheerfully.

“Why are there so many?” May asks, catching a box as it tumbles from Jemma’s skinny arms.

“Well, we had to get enough to decorate the whole tree, and we got some to decorate ourselves,” Antoine explains, putting his boxes in the cart.

“How many did you get to decorate yourselves?”

“Two boxes,” Fitz says. “Comes wi-with four each.”

“There are four of you,” May points out, “we only need four ornaments.”

“What if- What if we m-mess up?” Fitz says, pulling the two boxes closer to him.

May holds in a sigh. “Okay. Two boxes. But half of the other ornaments go back.”

“I vote we keep the red ones,” Antoine says.

“Y-You just want to keep those be-because you picked them out,” Fitz accuses.

“No, he’s right,” Jemma sighs, “they’ll be more aesthetically pleasing with the green leaves of the tree. I’ll be right back.”

Jemma turns and heads back down the aisle with her arms full of ornament boxes.

“Boys, go with her, please,” May says, not sure how old a child should be before they should be let to wander around a store by themselves.

Fitz and Antoine obediently follow Jemma, but May hears Fitz make a comment about the “blue ornaments being better” before they turn the corner.

May turns back around, to find her mother eyeing the cart disdainfully. May reaches into the furthest corners of herself trying to find all the patience she knew would be needed for this day. “What is it, Mama?”

Lian flicks up a hand, turning away. “Glitter,” she grumbles.

May raises her hands and presses the heels of them into her eyes, trying to remember her breathing. No one seems to get under her skin like her mother does, which her mother picks up on, and of course that compounds it. She knows it’s just going to get worse throughout the day, but her kids had wanted to spend time with their grandmother, so time with their grandmother they got. It’s not that she doesn’t love her mother, it’s just that sometimes it’s difficult to spend time together (and it only seems like it gets harder with time—it was hard when she joined the police force, harder when she quit, and Lian doesn’t seem to understand her decision about the kids at all, so that’s put even more of a strain on things).

Skye reaches up and tugs on the sleeve of her leather jacket. “Mom? You okay?”

May drops her hands, plastering on a smile. “Fine. Let’s go back and get those paint markers we saw in the other aisle, I don’t think these regular markers will draw on plastic.”

“Okay!” Skye chirps, and skips off down the aisle, May following.

-

They pull out of the Michael’s parking lot, heading toward Lian’s house. The kids are happy with their purchases and looking forward to a good day, and Lian hasn’t done anything to overtly call May out about any of her decisions yet, so she’s counting the shopping trip as a victory.

Skye claps from her car seat. “Play my song!”

Lian raises an eyebrow. “What song?”

“It’s called ‘The Power of One’,” May explains. “It’s from Pokemon. Skye loves it.”

Lian’s eyebrow remains raised. “Pokemon?”

“It’s a show!” Skye practically yells, buzzing with excitement.

Lian is waiting to see if May will correct the volume, she knows, but she doesn’t. She knows Skye better than her mother does, and she knows that correcting her, even gently, for such a minor slip up will only make her feel guilty. And she doesn’t want to do anything to lessen this day for her, when she’d been so looking forward to it.

“’S a game, too,” Fitz adds.

“Yeah!” Skye says. “But I can’t play it, cause it’s too hard. I like watching Fitz play.”

“You let them play video games?” Lian asks.

May doesn’t reply, just pops the CD into the CD player and turns up the volume. Skye cheers as the opening notes fill the car, and soon she’s singing along, belting out the lyrics as loud as her little lungs can manage.

The rest of the ride is, in May’s opinion, peaceful. They get to Lian’s house, unload the van, and set up supplies on Lian’s dining room table (May, true to her promise, lays out newspaper first). Lian watches them for a moment, then turns to the kitchen.

“Melinda, help me make tea.”

May looks up from her place at the table. “Of course, Mama.” She gets up and follows her mother into the kitchen, leaning on the counter as Lian fills the tea pot up with water. For a moment they’re both quiet, and then Lian sighs.

“I never pictured you with this life, Melinda.”

“Neither did I,” May replies honestly.

“A single, stay at home mother? It just doesn’t seem like you.”

May raises her eyes to the ceiling. They’ve had this conversation before. “I’m expanding my horizons.”

“Melinda, be serious.”

May holds in a sigh. “I’ve tried to be serious with you, Mama, and it doesn’t seem to have stuck. We’ve already spoken about this. And I’m not really comfortable talking about it with the kids in the other room.”

“Why didn’t you stay with the force? You loved it there. You were making a career there.”

May bites her tongue. “Things change. And anyway, it’s really too late for you to be trying to talk me out of this, I’ve already made up my mind. They’re mine, that’s the end of the discussion.”

Lian scoops the tea out of the container—May’s favorite, she notes—and pours it in the top of the pot. “You haven’t adopted them. It’s not too late.”

“They need me, Mama. And I’m starting to realize that I need them, too-“

She’s cut off by Jemma’s shout of “Skye!” from the other room, and then a door slams from deeper in the house. May rushes back into the dining room, where Jemma, Antoine, and Fitz are sitting, looking surprised.

“Where’s Skye?” May asks, growing more worried and more sure of what had happened.

“She went to show you her ornament,” Jemma says, confirming May’s fears, “but she just came shooting past and into Mrs. May’s bedroom.”

“Is she okay?” Antoine asks, worried. “What happened?”

“Stay here,” May tells them, “I’m going to go talk to her.”

May makes her way down the hall and to her mother’s bedroom, relieved to find that the door is unlocked. She walks in and closes the door behind her, her heart clenching at the sight of Skye curled up on the bed, sobbing into a pillow. She hopes that finding her kids crying is not going to be a sustained pattern over the holiday season. She doesn’t know if her heart can take it (that’s not true, she’ll take anything as long as her kids come out the other side okay).

“Skye,” she mumbles, trying not to startle her.

Skye quickly stops her sobbing, a skill a child that young shouldn’t have, in May’s opinion, and then shoves something under the pillow, which May will let go for now. She comes up and sits next to Skye on the bed, resting a hand on the girl’s arm.

“What did you hear, Skye?”

Though the cries have stopped, Skye’s breathing is getting faster. “Your mom doesn’t think you should keep us. And she’s your mom so you’re going to listen to her and you’re going to give us up and we’re going to have to go away again and we’ll probably get separated and I’ll go back to a bad family and I’ll never see you or Jemma or Fitz or Antoine ever again and-“

“Skye,” May cuts her off. She gently pulls Skye up off the bed and into her lap, cradling her against her chest, Skye’s temple pressed against her collarbone. When she’s upset, Skye thrives off of contact, something she hadn’t gotten at her previous foster families. May squeezes her as her breath begins to hiccup. “Skye, I want you to stop and take a deep breath for me, okay? Can you do that?”

Skye trembles, pushing closer, her breath caught up in her throat.

“Just one big, deep breath, okay? I’m going to take one and I want you to take one with me.”

Slowly, May pulls in a breath, until her lungs are completely full. Skye tries, but she doesn’t quite manage anything but a sharp inhale. May pushes her breath out.

“One more time. Deep breath.”

She breathes in again, and this time Skye manages to breathe with her.

“Okay.” May presses a kiss against the top of her head for the effort. “I want you to keep taking deep breaths like that, okay? And I want you to listen to what I’m about to say. Are you listening?”

“Yes,” Skye manages.

“Good, thank you. Now, my mother said what she did because it’s a parent’s job to always make sure their kids are making the right decisions for themselves, even when their kids are all grown up, and even when they have to ask the hard questions. My mother was saying that because she needs to make sure, as a mother, that I’m sure in my decision to take you kids in. But she doesn’t live with us, and she isn’t me, so she doesn’t see how sure I really am. She doesn’t know how good of a decision it was. Did you hear what I told her, after she said that?”

Skye shakes her head.

“I said that you kids needed me, but I also said that I needed you, too. And that’s true, Skye. I didn’t realize before, just how much. But I do. I need you just as much as you need me.”

Skye pulls back, wiping a trail of tears off her face with the back of her wrist, looking up at May blearily. “But you take care of us. We need you. You don’t need us.”

“Yes, Skye, I do. You may not see it, but you take care of me, too. I was lost without you. You helped me find myself again.”

Skye sniffles. “It’s not good when you lose yourself,” she says seriously.

May cracks a smile. “No, it’s not.”

“And we helped you?”

“Yes, you did.”

Skye nods, then lays her head back down on May’s chest. “So you’re really not going to give us up?”

“No, I’m not.”

“Even if we’re bad?”

May rocks her slightly. “No matter what you do, I’m not giving you up. You’re stuck with me.”

Skye lets go of a tearful sigh. “I love you so much, Mommy.”

“I love you so much, too, Baby.” May presses another kiss to her hair. “More than you even know.”

“And you won’t give us up even if Grandma tells you to?” Skye asks, double checking.

“She wouldn’t. But yes, even then. No matter who said.”

Skye squirms, and then pulls back, looking cheerful. “I made you an ornament.”

May will never cease to be amazed how quickly Skye can pop out of a bad spell. “You did? That’s very sweet.”

Skye climbs out of her lap, reaches under the pillow, and pulls it out. It’s painted purple, May’s favorite color, with the word ‘Mom’ written on in white glitter pen in Skye’s unmistakable scrawl, pink hearts surrounding it. May sucks in a breath, softly taking it from her and cradling it between her fingers.

“This is beautiful, Skye.”

Skye peers up at her nervously from behind her bangs. “You really like it?”

“I love it.”

Skye gives a watery smile.

May smiles back at her, and then pauses, a thought coming to her mind. “Skye, was this still wet when you put it under the pillow?”

Skye blanches. “Oh, um …”

Slowly, May tilts up the pillow. Underneath the dark blue pillowcase, in white, glittering letters, is the word ‘Mom’. She sees the look of terror dawn on Skye’s face, but she can’t even help it, she lets out a loud bark of laughter and pulls Skye into her side, squeezing her tightly.

Skye blinks up at her. “You’re not mad?”

May chuckles, shaking her head. “No, I’m not mad. But how about we just keep this between us for now, okay?”

Skye slumps, relieved. “Okay.”

“Alright. How about we finish the rest of the ornaments at home, and then we can decorate the tree together?”

Skye nods. “That sounds good.”

May wipes the last of the tears off Skye’s face, then grabs the ornament in one hand and Skye’s hand with the other, and together they walk out of the room. The others are still in the dining room, though it doesn’t look like the kids have gotten much more work done on their ornaments, instead nervously waiting for the two of them to come back. Lian sits at the head of the table, sipping her tea.

“Come on kids, pack up the stuff, it’s time to go home,” May tells them, and the kids quickly begin putting the things away, knowing better than to ask questions.

Lian takes another long sip of tea. “I think we should finish our discussion first.”

“Not today, Mother.”

“Kids, go to the other room. Your mother and I need to have a conversation.”

The kids pause, looking to May, and she holds in a sigh. “Just give us a few minutes.”

Jemma takes Skye’s hand from May, and leads her into the other room, Antoine and Fitz following behind. May sits down in one of the chairs not directly facing her mother, feeling it’s too confrontational. She doesn’t speak, just waits for whatever Lian is going to say.

“Raising children is much tougher than taking some questions from your mother,” she starts after a few moments.

“I know.”

“You have to be able to stand up to questioning, because people _are_ going to question you on this. And more importantly, you’re going to question yourself. You have to know all the answers.”

“I’ve gotten the questions, I know the answers.”

“Do you? Do you really know them? Because this isn’t the kind of thing you can be unsure about, Melinda. You can’t wake up in a year and regret that someone didn’t press you sooner. You can’t want your old life back once you commit to this.”

“I know. And I won’t.”

“But are you _sure_? More sure than you’ve ever been about anything? Because these are good kids, and they don’t deserve someone who doesn’t want them with all their heart.”

May softens, looking carefully over her mother’s face. “Did you ever regret me?”

“Not for a single day.”

“They’re my kids, Mama. They’re _mine_. I won’t regret them, either.”

“I asked you the same thing when you joined the force, and you said you wouldn’t regret that.”

May shakes her head slightly, looking down. “And I don’t. It made me who I am, scars and all.”

Lian swirls the tea in her cup. “These kids are going to come with scars, too.”

“Then those are scars I’ll gladly have.”

Lian brings the cup up to her lips, hiding a smile behind it. “Good. Because it’s going to hurt like a bitch.”

May lets out a scandalized laugh. “Mama!”

“What? It’s true, no need to be coy about it.”

May grins, rolling her eyes. “Can I go get my kids now?”

Lian nods, waving her off. “Yes, yes. Get all this glitter out of my house.”

May remembers the glittery ‘Mom’ on the bottom of her mother’s pillow, and stifles a smile.

(If later her mother stifles the same little smile, holding the dark blue pillow with the glittery ‘Mom’ and thinking back on May’s own childhood, May won’t know it).

-

“More tinsel!” Skye bellows, fists full of the sparkling threads, head cocked back as if uttering a war cry.

“Um-“ Jemma rushes to Skye’s side, easing her fists down. “I think the amount of tinsel we have right now is perfectly acceptable. We don’t want to overload the tree.”

“But it’s so shimmery,” Skye whispers.

“W-We don’t want to- uh- take aw-away from the ornaments,” Fitz adds in.

“And if we add any more we won’t be able to see the lights,” Antoine says.

Outnumbered, Skye droops. “No more tinsel.”

“No more tinsel,” Jemma repeats.

May takes another sip of her tea, which, she admits, is not as good as her mother’s, watching the ordeal from the couch with a quirk of a grin to her lips. It’s nice seeing her kids so cooperative. Her family room is being made a mess of, but it’s for a good cause.

Antoine steps back, taking in the full sight of the tree, which has been fully decked out and is glowing with rainbow lights. “Now all we need to do is add the ornaments we made.”

“Are they dry?” May asks.

“I’ll go check.” Antoine dashes off toward the kitchen, where earlier they had finished decorating their ornaments.

“You already saw the one I made for you, Mommy, but I made another one with my name on it,” Skye says.

“We all made ones with our names on them, actually,” Jemma informs her. “I thought it’d be nice if there was a common theme.”

“That was a good idea, Jemma,” May says.

Antoine carries the ornaments into the room and passes them out to the creators. Skye is the first one to bound up to May, holding hers out for inspection. It’s light blue, with white clouds and pink butterflies and lettering done in glitter pen.

“Very beautiful, Skye. I love the butterflies.”

Skye beams, then clambers over the coffee table and to the tree to hang her ornament as high as she can reach. May waves the other children over, and Jemma approaches her next.

Jemma’s ornament is green, with DNA double helixes and her name done in red.

“Very festive, Jemma. And the helixes are remarkably symmetrical.”

Jemma blushes, then takes her ornament and hangs it next to Skye’s.

Antoine steps up next with a grin. His ornament is left the base white, but he’s drawn a piano keyboard in black wrapping around it, with each of the keys done in a rainbow. His name is in a rainbow as well.

“Very nice use of color, Antoine. It’ll match the lights.”

“And my colorful personality,” he says, winking. His ornament is hung just above the girls’.

Fitz hangs back, his ornament cradled to his stomach.

May waits for him to approach, but he doesn’t. “Can I see yours, Fitz?”

“It’s- It’s not- uh- very good,” he prefaces, ducking his head as he holds it out to her. The ornament is done in dark blue, and Fitz’s name and a detailed drawing of circuitry is done in gold.

“Fitz-“

“The lines are- are- are wobbly cause I couldn’t- ah-“ He holds up his hand, clenching and unclenching it.

“No, Fitz, this is really good.” May looks up at him, then back down to inspect the ornament. “It really is.”

“Thanks,” Fitz mumbles, then dashes forward to take it from her and hangs it below the girls’ ornaments, making a diamond.

“Mom, put yours on top,” Skye says, fetching it for her.

May unfolds herself from the couch and takes the ornament, hanging it from one of the branches just above Antoine’s. She steps back, and together they take in their work.

“It looks great,” May says genuinely. “Now we just have to put the star on.”

Their star is white, sparkling, and made of wire and cloth. What makes it special is that there’s little corners to slip a photo into, and so in the middle of their star is the first photo they have of them as a family, taken by Phil on the day May signed the papers to officially start fostering them. May steps up onto the stool they’ve been using, and slips the star onto the top of the tree.

Skye squeals as she steps down. “It’s _perfect_!”

May reaches down and pulls Skye off the ground, ignoring the jolt of pain in her hip, one arm beneath Skye’s shoulders and the other behind her knees, lifting her up into the air and blowing a loud raspberry on her stomach. Skye roars with laughter, clinging on, and May walks over and collapses both of them onto the couch. Skye settles into a more comfortable position on her lap as the other kids come to sit around them, all of them gazing at their newly decorated tree.

May smiles. Her little girl is happy, so she’s happy, too. “It is pretty perfect, isn’t it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> jemma's chapter next!


	4. Jemma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i read a wikihow article on how to ice skate so please take this with a grain of salt
> 
> Nat is 12, Clint is 14, Steve is 15

“Oh, I think these must run small,” Jemma says, her foot jammed into a skate. “It’s awfully tight.”

“Too tight?” May asks, crouching down before her. She squeezes the toes of the boot. “Yeah, let’s get the next size up.”

Jemma tries to pull the skate off, but it’s stuck. May grabs it between her hands, careful of the blade, and shimmies it off.

“I’ll be right back.”

May makes her way back up to the counter to exchange for a larger size. Phil is still standing there, squinting at the racks of shoes.

“What size does Clint wear?” he asks her.

May quirks an eyebrow. “How should I know?”

“Figured I’d ask. Clint!” Phil yells and turns around, scanning the large, indoor ice skating rink. He spots Clint over at one of the tables, eating fries from the small food stand on the other side of the rink. “Is he eating again? I swear I fed him before we left.” He gives a short sigh. “Hey Steve, what size does Clint wear?”

Steve looks up from where he’s helping Fitz lace up his skates. “A nine,” he calls back.

“Thank you for knowing that.” Phil turns back to the man behind the counter. “A nine, please.”

“And for you?” the man asks, looking at May.

She hands over the skates. “One size up.”

Phil leans back on the counter as the man finds the skates. “Thanks for inviting us.”

“Of course. The kids always love to see you.”

Phil smiles. “That’s good to know. Usually when they saw me before, it was because something went wrong, or they were being moved. Glad to know I’m not bad by association.”

May smirks. “Well, your kids might also have something to do with it.”

Phil nods, eyes slipping closed in defeat. “Yep, there it is. Knew they didn’t like me—just using me to get to my kids.”

The man sets the two pairs of skates on the counter, and May picks up Jemma’s. “That’s life.”

Phil gives a delicate sniff. “That’s fine. I’m fine with being used, I’ll find a way to deal with it.”  

May tries not to grin. “Let’s get back to the kids.”

She leads him back, and she helps Jemma get her skates on as Phil pulls on his own. Skye is standing next to them, her arms wheeling slowly, balancing on the blades.

“You flail like that, you fall down,” Natasha tells her. “You just need to keep your knees bent so you maintain a center of gravity.”

“What’s that mean?” Skye asks.

“It’s what keeps you from falling. What keeps you upright on a bike. And it’s what you need to skate.”

Skye nods sagely. “Center of gravity. Got it.”

May pats the side of Jemma’s leg as she finishes lacing the skate. “Alright, are we all ready?”

Antoine throws a few punches in front of him. “Let’s do this!”

Clint scuttles over in sock-clad feet, licking salt off his fingers. “Sorry, sorry, I’ll meet you guys out there.”

Phil hands over the skates, and Clint wipes off his fingers before sitting down to put them on. The rest of them make their way to one of the entrances of the rink. May steps down first, then helps the kids onto the ice one by one.

Steve smiles as he takes her hand. “Thanks, ma’am.”

“You don’t have to call me ‘ma’am’, Steve.”

His smile widens. “Yes ma’am.”

She lightly smacks him on the arm as he skates by. Phil steps down last, wobbly on his feet.

“It’s been a while since I’ve done this,” he admits.

“Since the last time I forced you out here?”

He winces. “Yeah, that was it.”

“What was that, seven years ago?”

His eyes raise to the ceiling as he thinks. “I’d just taken in Steve, so yeah, seven. Almost eight.”

“Mommy,” Skye says, pulling on May’s jacket. “Fitz already fell down.”

May looks up, and sure enough, Fitz is sprawled out on the ice, eyes squinted angrily. May stifles a laugh, and skates over to help him up.

“Did you have your knees bent?” she asks, making sure he has his balance before she lets go.

“I- I had my- my bloody knees bent, I j-just-“ He huffs. “I don’t- uh- know what I-I’m doing.”

“Yeah, you gotta show us how, Mom,” Skye says, still griping the wall.

“Jemma,” May says, and the girl’s head snaps over to look at her, “you’ve done this before. You want to show them with me?”

Jemma glances away. “Um, no, that’s fine, I’ll just watch.”

May watches her for another moment, and then nods. Jemma seems distracted, but there could be any number of reasons for that.

“Okay, so you want to keep your feet under your shoulders, knees bent so your butt is out a bit.“ She ignores the children snickering. “Keep your arms up and out to the sides if you need to, but don’t cling to the wall. Make sure your blades are pointed in the same direction and then just-“ She turns around and pushes forward, making sure to go slowly and exaggerate the movement.

“Like this?” Antoine asks, and glides forward.

“Yeah, exactly that.”

Fitz copies them, and this time, he doesn’t fall. He smiles, and does is again. “This is-isn’t- uh- so hard.”

Skye tries, and almost topples forward before May catches her.

“You have to maintain your-“

“Center of gravity,” Skye finishes for her. She squints up at May’s face, considering. “You know, that’s kind of like you, Mommy.”

May’s brows furrow. “How do you mean?”

Skye smiles. “You keep us from falling down. And not just when we’re skating.”

May notices the slightly crumpled look to Jemma’s face when she hears Skye, but the girl turns and skates away before May can say anything, so she turns back to Skye, a niggling of worry in her gut. “Thank you, Baby, that’s really sweet.”

“Alright!” Clint says, stepping out onto the rink behind them and clapping his hands. “Let’s get this party started! Hey Fitz, you want to go really fast?”

Fitz nods. Clint skates to him, and then holds his hands out behind him, wiggling his gloved fingers. “Hold on tight.”

Fitz grabs on, and Clint shoots off, dragging the smaller boy quickly around the rink as Fitz hollers in excitement. May looks around for Jemma, and spots her a little ways away, watching Natasha do graceful spins in the center of the rink.

“Can you do that?” Antoine asks.

“I used to be able to. Not so much anymore.” She pats her hip, and Antoine nods.

“I’m going to go catch up to Steve,” he says.

“Just don’t leave the rink without telling me. Tell the others, too.”

Antoine shoots her a salute, and slowly makes his way over to where Steve is gliding around the rink.

Skye grabs onto May’s leg. “I’ll stay with you.”

They make lazy circles just inside the wall, going slowly and letting the other skaters pass them by. May misses the thrill of being able to go fast, to leap into the air and spin and land on such a thin blade, but she knows those days are behind her, just one of the things she lost the day she got shot. She tries not to let it bother her, it’s so inconsequential, in the grand scheme of things, but it does, in its own tiny, nagging way.

Eventually, Skye gets brave enough to skate in front of May, without holding on. She only does it for small bursts at a time, and then she’ll come back. After she does this a few times, she gets up the courage to do a small hop.

“Did you see that?” she asks excitedly, grabbing back at May.

“I did.” May smiles.

“I’m getting pretty good at this. Maybe better than the others.”

May looks away and does a quick headcount—Antoine and Fitz are racing, all of Phil’s kids are accounted for, and- She spots Jemma, skating slowly around the outside of the rink, by herself, looking glum.

May turns back. “Skye, why don’t you go skate with Phil for a bit?”

Skye blinks up at her. “Why?”

“I’m going to go check on Jemma.”

Skye turns her head and follows May’s gaze. “Oh. Yeah, she looks sad. I’ll just be over there.”

May calls out a ‘thanks’ as Skye skates away, still wobbly by herself but getting better. May glides up to Jemma, skating backwards in front of her.

“Jemma,” May calls softly, getting the girl’s attention.

“Oh.” Jemma tries to smile, but it’s not very convincing. “Sorry, didn’t see you there.”

“I’m going to try the fries from that stand. Why don’t you come with me?”

Jemma considers before nodding, and follows behind May as she exits the rink and clambers up to the little food stand on her skates. Jemma sits at one of the tables as she orders, and has her head propped between her fists when May carries two baskets of fries and a soda back.

For a few minutes they eat in silence, and though the fries aren’t very good, they’re warm, and covered in salt. May watches Jemma carefully, as Jemma watches the skaters in the rink.

“What’s on your mind?” May asks eventually.

Jemma startles, looking guilty. “Nothing,” she says quickly.

“Jemma,” May says, ducking her head to chase Jemma’s drooped gaze, “I really want to know. You’ve seemed distracted since we came here.”

Jemma meets her gaze warily, then pushes out a sigh. “It was my idea to come here. I should be happy, right?”

May considers that. “I’ve often found it’s no use trying to hold on to what you think you _should_ feel. Emotions don’t really care about ‘should’. They come when they do and you have to make of them what you will.” May takes a long sip of her soda, then holds it out to Jemma, shaking it when the girl doesn’t move. Jemma grabs it and takes a sip herself, her eyes roaming back to the rink. “What are you feeling instead?” May asks.

“’M jealous …” Jemma mumbles.

“Of who?”

Jemma eats another fry, not meeting her eyes. “It’s just … Seeing all these other kids here, with their families, it- I know it’s unfounded, but it just seems like they have so little to worry about.”

May digs around in her fry bin for a small, crunchy one, and then pops it in her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “Have you been worried about a lot recently?”

Jemma’s eyes dart up to her own, then away. “I always worry.”

“What about?” May asks softly.

Jemma bites her lip, and doesn’t answer.

“Jemma,” May murmurs. “I just want to help.”

“I’m not sure you can.”

“Will you let me try?”

Jemma bites down on a sigh. “I- It’s not a personal comment about you, it’s just- well- I’m very good at picking up on patterns. And the pattern says that foster homes don’t work out. They just never have. I can’t help but worry that this one won’t either. It … It seems too good to be true, and in my experience, that means it is.”

“Sometimes something comes along that breaks the pattern,” May says. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not good to recognize the patterns, and be cautious.”

Jemma traces the table with her finger. “Yeah.”

“Of course, it can be hard not to worry so much that you miss out on the good things when they’re happening.”

“I don’t know how to stop,” Jemma admits.

“What do you think is going to happen?”

Jemma blows out a shaky breath. “We’ll be overwhelming, and you’ll get tired of us. Or you’ll realize you don’t want kids. Or we’ll do something bad, and you won’t be able to forgive us. Or you won’t be able to keep affording us. Or you’ll find other kids that you like better. Or …” Jemma’s fists clench on the table. “Or I won’t be good enough, and you’ll see it, and you won’t want me anymore.”

And there’s the heart of the problem, May realizes. “Jemma.” May waits for Jemma to meet her gaze before she continues. “The only person I’m asking you to be is you. And that’s plenty ‘good enough’ for me.”

“It shouldn’t be,” Jemma shoots back, suddenly looking angry, which takes May aback. “I’m insensitive, and not very kind. I’m too angry. I’m competitive. I say all the answers in class and make the other children feel bad. I don’t allow things to make me happy the way they should. I’m damaged.” Tears spring to Jemma’s eyes. “I don’t even know how Fitz puts up with me, and he’s my best friend.”

May takes a moment to figure out how to phrase what she’s going to say. She knows she has to say this right, has to make it count, because this is obviously something that’s been bothering Jemma for a while, and it must’ve taken a lot for her to admit all of it. “Everyone is going to have negative qualities, Jemma,” she starts carefully, “that’s just part of being human. We can’t escape that. We can always work towards bettering ourselves, but no one is going to be perfect. The reason that people love us anyway is because the good they see in us outweighs the bad. Despite the bad things, we find reasons to love each other, and celebrate each other, and want each other in our lives. And despite what you see as bad things, Fitz and I love you, because we think you’re amazing. Because the good things about you shine so bright, that the bad doesn’t even bother us. We’ll take them, as long as we can have you in our lives.”

Jemma’s lips twist, tears threatening to spill over in her eyes.

May leans forward. “And who ever told you that you’re not kind?”

Jemma looks down at her lap. “Mr. Bershinsky,” she says, one of her old foster fathers.

“Well, he was wrong.”

“I don’t think he was,” Jemma breathes, voice wavering.

“Every day after school, you hold Skye’s hand on the way back from the bus stop, and you sit down with her at the kitchen table, and you help her with her homework, even before you do yours, even though that means that you have to do your own homework when the other kids get to relax.”

Jemma looks down. “I’m just trying to be a good sister.”

May nods. “That’s something that kind people do. They try to be good to others.”

Jemma blinks, and a few tears slip down her face. “Do they have to try this hard?”

“Yes,” May says. “Sometimes, and with some people, it comes easy. Other times it’s really difficult. The important thing is that you try, that’s all anyone’s asking of you. And I could name a hundred ways that you try and succeed to be kind, Jemma.”

“I feel like …” Jemma sniffles, wipes her nose with her sleeve. “I feel like me trying isn’t good enough.”

“If you’re trying your best, and that’s still not good enough for people, then you find new people. You find someone who appreciates you for you, who recognizes the work you put in. If the people in your life make you feel like you’re never enough, then those people aren’t good for you, and you move on.” May watches her face, wishes she could reach out and wipe the tears from Jemma’s cheeks, though she knows the girl wouldn’t want the contact right now. “As far as finding people who appreciate you, you’ve found a family who does. You belong with us, Jemma, I don’t want you to ever doubt that.”

“I’ve never really … belonged anywhere, before. I guess I did when I was a toddler. I had a mother and a father, and I’m told they loved me, but … I don’t really remember them. I can’t really cling to that like Fitz and Antoine can, that feeling of knowing where you’re supposed to be, who you’re supposed to be with.” Jemma studies May’s face. “If I feel it now, I don’t think I’d know how to recognize it.”

“You’ve always been a very logical person, Jemma. Maybe for you it won’t be a gut feeling, and that’s okay. You just need to ask yourself, and you can take all the time you need to think about it, if you’re happy with us. That’s really the only question that matters.”

“Yes,” Jemma answers immediately. “I am. I know I am. More than I have been anywhere else, more even than when we were with Mr. Fury.”

“Then you stick with us. And give us the chance to stick with you.”

Jemma nods, wipes her face. “I still feel like the rug is going to be pulled out from under me.”

“I think that’s just a feeling that has to go away with time,” May says. “But, maybe you should talk to Natasha about it. I know she used to feel the same way. It took her a long time to get settled. It might be good for you to talk to someone who can relate.”

“Okay. I will.”

“And Jemma … No matter what you’re feeling, you can always come and talk to me. I never want you to feel like you can’t. And if you don’t want to talk to me, you can talk to Phil, or we can find someone else. I don’t want you to have to carry this stuff around all by yourself. That’s too much for a kid to be dealing with on their own.”

“I’m used to it. Dealing with it by myself.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s healthy.”

Jemma shrugs, then nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

May turns to look back out at the rink, spots Phil, and his kids, and her kids, all skating together, laughing. “Do you want to go back out, or do you want to sit here for a little while?”

Jemma gives one loud sniff, dries the last of the tears off her cheeks, and then gives a decisive nod. “Let’s go back out.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

May dumps the fries and the soda in the nearest trashcan, and then she and Jemma make their way back towards the rink. Just as she’s about to step off onto the ice, a hand slips into her own. She stops, surprised, and turns around.

Jemma isn’t looking at her, but there’s a soft smile on her face. “Thanks, mum. For being here. For being ... our center of gravity.”

May smiles back, squeezing her hand. “Always, Jemma.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> agentcalliope is getting a big shoutout at the end but here's a smaller shoutout cause she was the one to tell me to make the 'center of gravity' thing about May. Trip's chapter is next!


	5. Antoine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so i didnt really know anything about kwanzaa before i wrote this, i got all my info from officialkwanzaawebsite.org if you wanna learn more. sorry if i got anything wrong, i tried my best to accurately represent the holiday!

“Can my friend Mack come over for our Kwanzaa celebration tomorrow?” Antoine asks, popping into the kitchen as May wipes down the counters.

She sets the rag down, turning to him. “Didn’t you want it to be just us?”

Antoine’s lips twist as he thinks. “I mean, it would be nice being just us, but … he’s been having a hard time at home since Winter break started. His parents have been fighting a lot. I just thought it would be nice to get him out of there for a little bit.” 

May gives a nod. “Okay. That’s nice of you, thinking of him like that. Is he walking over or do we need to go pick him up?”

Antoine pulls his walkie-talkie out from the band of his jeans, bringing it up to his face and pressing the talk button. “Dude, she said yes. Are you walking over, or should we come get you?”

A voice comes through in a burst of static. “It’s not far, I can walk.”

“Okay.” The walkie-talkie is slipped back under his shirt. “He can walk,” Antoine relays, as if she hadn’t heard. 

May quirks a smile. “Okay. Tell him to be here by one tomorrow if he wants lunch.”

Antoine grins. “Thanks.” He turns and dashes out of the room.

-

The next day, May brings the last pot to the table—filled with steaming mac and cheese. The mashed potatoes, chicken strips, and corn have already been set out and are being dished onto the kids’ plates. It’s not the healthiest, but the holiday does call for a feast, and her kids wouldn’t hear of any other feast than this. She’s not used to seeing the table with a cloth laid out on it, much less one as colorful and beautiful as the African cloth they’d bought just for this celebration, but it does make the room look nice. At the head of the table, the candle holder, (a Kinara, Antoine had called it) holding seven candles stands proudly on its mat. Beside it, two ears of corn, and a black, stemmed cup.

“Do you celebrate Kwanzaa, Mack?” May asks, sitting down and scooping food onto her own plate.

Mack blinks at her, cheeks stuffed full of food, and then shakes his head. He swallows down the food, and then says, “No, ma’am. I don’t really know much about it.”

“It’s okay,” Skye says, “Antoine is going to teach us.”

Fitz works carefully to slip a noodle onto each of the prongs on his fork. “W-We have candles, too, for- uh- for Hanukkah. Do y-yours mean something?”

Antoine nods. He pushes up onto his knees on his chair so he can point to each of the candles in turn. “The three red ones stand for self-determination, creativity, and- um-“

“Cooperative economics,” Jemma says.

“Right. Cooperative economics.” His finger moves to the other side of the Kinara. “The green candles stand for purpose, faith, and-“

“Collective work and responsibility,” Jemma cuts him off.

“Jemma,” May admonishes lightly. “Let him explain, this is his holiday.”

Jemma blushes. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Antoine says. “I couldn’t remember anyway.” He moves to point at the middle candle. “And this one is black, like me,” he says, grinning. “It stands for unity.”

“Woah,” Skye breathes.

Mack twirls his fork. “That’s cool that they all stand for something different.”

“The seven principals,” Jemma says, and then catches herself, stuffing a big bite of mashed potatoes into her mouth.

“Do you- Do you light them all- all at once, o-or one each day?” Fitz asks.

Antoine opens his mouth to answer, and then stops, looking at Jemma. “Jemma, you read about this, why don’t you explain?”

Jemma blinks, looking caught off guard, then smiles. Her eyes dart over to May, who’s watching the situation carefully, before she starts, “Well, the middle candle is lit on the first day, celebrating that the people come before all else. Then the candles are lit left to right, symbolizing the struggle, and then the hope that comes after the struggle.”

“I like that,” Mack states.

“Oh! I almost forgot!” Antoine tosses his fork down on the table and rushes out of the room. Shortly after, he comes back in, proudly displaying the dashiki that he and May had picked out a few days before—mostly red, with a pattern of green and yellow around the V-shaped collar and sleeves.

“Cool!” Skye gasps. “What is it?”

“It’s called a dashiki,” Antione says, spinning around so they can see the whole thing. “They’re really common in some parts of Africa.”

Skye drums her hands on the table in excitement, causing her plate to rattle. “That’s awesome! I want to wear one!”

“You can wear this one,” Antoine says, and is about to pull it off when May interrupts him.

“Antoine, can I speak with you in the kitchen for a minute?”

His eyebrows raise, but he nods, and follows her into the other room when she stands from the table.

“Am I in trouble?” he asks, looking up at her nervously.

“No,” May is quick to assure him. She pats the counter. “Hop up.”

He does, seating himself beside the toaster and letting his legs dangle, swinging them so they make the faintest taps against the drawers. May leans on the fridge, watching him for a moment before she speaks.

“You know, this celebration was supposed to be for you.”

Antoine nods slowly, and then bites his lip. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, we did all this to make you happy, but it seems like you’re just trying to make everyone else happy instead.”

His lips quirk into a smile. “My grandma always said that you can’t really be happy unless you share it.”

May nods slightly. “And I don’t think there’s anything wrong with trying to share your happiness, that’s a good thing. What I’m saying is that you don’t have to always put the others’ happiness in front of your own. You have to take care of yourself, too.”

Antoine’s face crumples slightly. “I wasn’t doing that.”

“Originally, you wanted the celebration to be just family,” May points out, “but you invited Mack over because he was having a hard time at home. And I could tell you were wanting to explain about the candles, but you let Jemma explain instead because she seemed excited about it. And just now, you were about to give Skye your dashiki because she wanted to wear one.”

Antoine tugs on his thumb. “I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

“If you take each alone, there’s nothing wrong. They’re each kind things to do. But each time you give something up, you’re letting go of a bit of your own happiness, too. Eventually, you’re going to run out.”

Antoine says nothing, just looks down at his knees.

“I don’t think I’m explaining this well.” May gives a short sigh. “It’s like- It’s like when you’re on an airplane; if the breathing masks come down in an emergency, you’re supposed to put your own mask on before helping other people with theirs. I’m worried you’re not putting your own mask on.”

His face darkens, and May is surprised to see tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. “Maybe I don’t need one.”

“Everyone needs one, Antoine.”

She can tell from the way the skin pinches that Antoine is biting the inside of his lip, his eyebrows drawing together as he looks away, face stormy. May pulls away from the refrigerator and walks toward him, placing a hand on his knee.

“Hey,” she says softly, “what’s going on?”

Antoine blinks, trying to keep the tears from falling down his face. “The others’ happiness matters more. They matter more. I …” His voice chokes. “I don’t matter.”

May reaches out, delicately pulling his chin until he’s facing her. “Who told you that?”

A tear escapes and glitters down his cheek, but he doesn’t answer.

“You can tell me, it’s okay,” May says.

“My dad,” he admits on a whisper.

She wipes the tear away, then drops her hand. “Well, he was wrong. You matter so much, Antoine. Just as much as the other kids do. You’re important, and it’s important that you’re happy.”

He shakes his head. “It just matters if I act like it. If I act happy, other people will be happy, too. It’s easier to just pretend.”

“You shouldn’t have to pretend with me,” May tells him. “You don’t have to pretend with people who love you.”

“Of course I do,” he protests. “If I don’t then people get mad, or get hurt.”

“No one is going to get mad at you for having feelings, Antoine, not anymore. That’s not how we work in this house, and that’s not how anyone should work. You’re entitled to any feelings you have, and you’re allowed to express them. I’m sorry anyone ever told you differently.”

Antoine sniffles, wiping his face. “But what if someone gets hurt?”

“You having feelings doesn’t hurt us. Us getting to help you, and take care of you, doesn’t hurt us. It hurts if you act maliciously, but that’s not what you’re doing. You’d just be expressing your feelings in a safe way.”

“Dad would always smash things when he felt something bad.” Antoine’s hands clench into fists, and he stares at them, then unclenches. “I don’t … I don’t know what to do, when I feel that way.”

“Well, you start by telling someone else, someone you trust, and then we help you figure out what to do about it.”

Antoine studies her face. “I don’t have to do it by myself?”

“No.”

“And you won’t be mad?”

May shakes her head. “No, never.”

His face crumples again, and a few more tears slip down his face. He leans forward until May pulls him against her. “Okay,” he says.

May rubs one hand on his back, the other cradling his head. “I know you’re used to hiding things, and I know it’s going to take a while to unlearn that, and that’s okay. But can you promise me that you’ll at least try to be more open about how you’re feeling?”

“Maybe …” He clears his throat. “Maybe I can just tell you, at first?”

“Yeah, that would be okay.”

He pulls back, cheeks wet, and takes a shaky breath. “I think I can do that.”

“Good. I’m proud of you for trying.” May grabs a paper towel from beside the sink, and moves to wipe his cheeks.

Antoine dodges her, groaning. “Ugh, Mom.”

May smirks. “Fine, you want to go back in there with your cheeks still wet?”

He gives a sigh, which they both know is teasing, and stops moving. “Fine.”

May wipes his face until there’s no evidence that he’d been crying, and then leans forward to press a kiss against his forehead. “Now, why don’t we go celebrate, yeah?”

He scoots off the counter. “Yeah.”

Together, they make their way back into the dining room. The other kids look up as they enter, then keep eating, knowing better than to make a big deal out of their disappearance. Antoine sits, then shoots May a small smile over the Kinara.

“So can I wear the shirt?” Skye asks innocently, oblivious to the conversation that had just taken place in the kitchen, still as eager as only Skye could be.

Antoine glances at May. “Actually, I think I’m going to keep wearing it. It reminds me of my grandmother.”

“Okay,” Skye says easily.

From the head of the table, May gives an approving nod.

“So, what’s the- uh-“ Fitz motions with his fork to the black cup.

Antoine goes to answer, then pauses, but Jemma doesn’t interrupt, just watches him expectantly. He gives an easy grin. “That’s the unity cup. You pour from it to honor and remember your ancestors, who taught us the way of good and to see the beauty in life.”

“Sweet, isn’t it?” Jemma says.

Until they finish their food, and then even afterwards, the other kids keep asking Antoine questions about the holiday, and Antoine keeps answering them the best he can, looking genuinely happy about getting to share his culture and his family traditions. When it comes time to light the candles, Antoine turns to Fitz.

“You let me light the candles during Hanukkah, why don’t you light these?”

Fitz blinks at him. “Are- Are you sure?”

Antoine nods, grinning. “Yeah, I’d really like it.”

“O-Okay.” With his good hand, Fitz takes the lighter and, under Antoine’s direction, lights the middle candle, and then the one most to the left.

“Are th-there blessings?” Fitz asks.

“No, you just …” Antoine turns to smile up at May. She rests a hand on his shoulder, and he leans into her. “You just look at them and feel happy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if this chapter was a bit shorter than the others, but i'll be posting the epilogue tomorrow so watch out for that!


	6. Flashing Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, here we are! the epilogue! i can't believe we made it, guys. it's been one hell of a year, but writing this au has made it a little brighter for me and i'm so glad y'all have been along for the ride 
> 
> big ol shout out to casey (agentcalliope) who has beta'd all these chapters for me. she is seriously amazing. like, she even read one of these chapters at like 1:30am ???? that's dedication. huge props, thank you 
> 
> (if anyone hasn't read the rest of the fics in this series - Lancelot is their dog!) 
> 
> now on to the chapter! enjoy everyone!

_December 25 th, 2016 _

It’s been almost a year since they were all in a room at the same time. Sure, the kids visit her often enough, but it’s whenever they can carve out the time in their hectic, separate schedules. They’ll come for the afternoon, or on a free weekend, but never at the same time. The only time she’d even seen Fitz and Jemma in the same place since last Christmas was when she visited them at their lab—and she knows it’s because they’re too indispensable to let go at the same time, but seeing them so often apart was still … odd, to say the least. Even on her birthday, Skye and Antoine had missed each other by an hour. So it’s good, it’s nice, having them all together now. She’s been living in this house for almost two decades, but she’s never more reminded of how empty it feels than when her kids aren’t all there to fill it.

(She tells them all five of them being together might be too much excitement for Lancelot, who’s softened in his old age, and she isn’t talking about herself at all, of course not.)

But they’re here now. That’s really all she could ask for.

Which is why it surprises her so much when Antoine says “Your turn” and hands her a wrapped gift he’d been hiding behind the couch.

May gives him a soft glare. “I told you not to get me anything.”

“It’s from all of us,” Skye says.

“It’s not big-“ Fitz starts.

“Just a little something,” Jemma finishes.

With a final suspicious look, just for good measure, May strips off the green and red wrapping paper, takes the lid off the box, and then … stares. Inside, nestled in tissue paper, is a stuffed animal. A dark brown bear, to be precise, with a tan face. It’s dressed in a blue police officer’s uniform. She’s seen toys like it before when she passes the Build-A-Bear in the mall (and doesn’t long for the days when the kids would’ve been at her side, begging to go in).

“What is this?” she asks softly, picking it up.

Skye takes a breath, looking decidedly nervous. “Do you remember the first thing we did together as a family? That first weekend you had us?”

“We went to the zoo,” Fitz says before she can respond, a smile gracing his face. “And we saw the monkeys.”

“And after, you told us that we each got to pick out a stuffed animal from the souvenir shop,” Antoine continues.

“But we were too nervous, we didn’t want to be a bother,” Jemma chuckles, “so you picked them out for us.”

May swallows, thinking back on how young they’d all been. “Yeah. I remember.”

“Well,” Skye says, sitting on her hands, “this is us … paying you back, in whatever little way we can, for all those years ago.”

“I still have that stuffie on my bed,” Jemma admits.

“Proudly,” Antoine says, and the other two nod.

“And we were so scared, and those stuffed animals brought us so much comfort and … We just- I don’t know.” Skye rubs the back of her neck, looking away.

Antoine leans forward, not letting the quiet drag out. “There’s a speaker in the paw,” he says, squeezing it.  

The tinny sound of all four of the kids’ voices comes out of the bear, a timed chorus of, “We love you, Mom!” emanating from it.

And then there’s Jemma’s voice, saying, “We couldn’t have done it without you, Mum.”

And then Fitz, “You always took care of us, through better and worse.”

Then Skye, “Those four, lost kids you took in couldn’t have asked for a better mom.”

And finally, Antoine, “And that’s why you’re always gonna be our big ole mama bear.”

Silence fills the room, and the kids watch her, nervous grins on their faces. May is unnaturally still, save for her thumb, which rubs over the bear’s paw like she might just press it again. But then Lancelot shifts, lets out a big snuffle, and raises his head, staring at her.

May sets the bear down in the chair next to her, gets up, turning away. “I think Lance needs to go out.”

Antoine falls back against the arm of the couch. “Ouch. Ten points for that deflection.”

Skye groans, covering her face with her hands. “I knew it was stupid.”

“Hang on-“ Fitz leans forward, the only one who can still see her face from this angle from his place on the loveseat, inspecting her carefully. “Are you _crying_?”

“ _No_ ,” May grounds out, turning to face the wall.

“Oh my god,” Jemma says gleefully.

“Ha!” Antoine yells, standing triumphantly and pointing at Fitz. “You owe me five bucks!”

Fitz huffs, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket. “W-Well, how was I supposed to know Mum actually cries at things?”

Skye _tsk_ ’s, but looks visibly relieved. “Going soft in your old age.”

Jemma swats at Skye’s arm. “Don’t tease, it’s sweet.”

“Lancelot,” May says, trying to keep the tears out of her voice. “Outside. Now.”

Lancelot just blinks languidly, then lays his head back down.

May rolls her eyes, regretting the motion when it sends two tears cascading down her face. “You’re no help at all.”

Skye holds her arms out, “Aww, Mommy-“

“Don’t you dare-“

May is tackled in a hug from behind, cutting off her sentence. She pulls her mouth into a thin line, determined not to let any more tears fall. Skye’s head nuzzles into her neck, and May, grudgingly, rests her hands on Skye’s arms, which are wrapped around her torso.

“I’m not crying,” May says, though she knows she can’t save face at this point.

“Never happened,” Jemma agrees, joining in on the hug.

“Oh, good, are we doing the family hug thing?” Antoine asks. “’Cause I was definitely hoping this was going to turn into a family hug thing.” He wraps his arms around the three of them, resting his head on top of May’s. “Fitz, you better get up and get your pasty ass in here.”

Fitz grumbles, but he does get up and join.

May blows out a shaky breath, her kids wrapped around her, all of them here, and safe, and happy. She might be the shortest of them now, so the dynamics have changed somewhat, but even still, the hug brings back memories.

She blinks at the wall, vision blurred, and swallows hard. “Thank you,” she says on a breath.

The kids just squeeze her harder.

She says it because of the gift, but she means it for so many things. _Thank you_ for being here. _Thank you_ for still caring. _Thank you_ for growing up to be more amazing people than she ever could’ve dreamed.

But she doesn’t say all that. She just closes her eyes, and holds on, and hopes that they know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we are, at the end. i hope you guys have enjoyed this series. as always, you can leave prompts in my askbox on tumblr (buckysbears) and i promise i will definitely squeal over them and think about them a lot and maybe even write them

**Author's Note:**

> kind of weird having this take place in an established time, huh? its kind of always been this weird timeless void in my head, but i thought it was important to have an actual date for this one
> 
> anyway, fitz's chapter is next!


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